


An honorable Crook and a wretch of a Man

by Talimee



Category: Rise of the Planet of the Apes (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Gen, I can't say that often enough, Maurice is shrewd, Racism, balls, duels, so is Caesar, the Colonel continues to be an ass, the author's fixation on nature descriptions, the colonel is still an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimee/pseuds/Talimee
Summary: “Everyone knows to ignore that wretch but you had to be noble, you had to be honorable!”Even one-handed Rocket managed to make his rant drip with sarcasm.“And look where it got you?!”Caesar stopped in his stride and clapped eyes on the man standing on the other end of the clearing. His red coat was as glaring in the morning's soft colors as his bald head.“Towards retribution”, Caesar growled and once again felt the ghost of a fist graze his chin.
Relationships: Caesar & Colonel J. Wesley McCullough (Planet of the Apes 2011)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	An honorable Crook and a wretch of a Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squickqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squickqueen/gifts).



> I did it. An effing PotA-Regency-AU. It's all Squickqueen's fault, of course, to whom this Machwerk is consequently dedicated with much love and a confused look. I hope you like it.
> 
> A warning up front: There is some heavy racist stuff towards apes happening around the middle of the story. It's mostly the Colonel doing it because he is what he is, but it is implied that others might think the same, even if they don't act on it. So beware of that.
> 
> Apart from that there should be nothing too bad in here, apart from the author's attempt at Regency-style language. You're welcome if it makes you laugh. ;)
> 
> And last: I consider this story filling the Prompt "Seeing Red" of a 100-prompts-list I started eons ago but for reasons unknown even to myself I want this story to be a stand-alone, so it won't go into that cummulative fic dedicated to that prompt-list.

**An honorable Crook and a wretch of a Man**

It was high summer and there was mist on the grass. It swirled sluggishly around century-old beeches and elms in his foster-parents' park, smothering all hard edges like a shroud. The sun was a mere suggestion this early in the morning but the idea of it already burned on his pelt as he stepped from the lawn onto the knee-high grass under the trees. Around him, woodland birds stirred from their slumber in trees and decorative patches of underbrush, hailing the new day, but Caesar's mind was still anchored in the Yesterday, his gaze as well as his mood dark and full of despair. A glorious summer's day was dawning, praising the Creator with song and mist and sun and Caesar could not help but feel mocked by this exuberance of life when he himself was likely walking to his grave.

“ _You pig-headed fool!”_ Rocket continued to berate him from his side, erratically gesturing one-handed while the other arm clutched an ornate case, maybe fifteen inches across and four inches deep. _“Everyone knows to ignore that wretch but you had to be noble, you had to be_ honorable _!”_ Even one-handed Rocket managed to make his rant drip with sarcasm. _“And look where it got you?!”_

Caesar stopped in his stride, making Rocket bump into his shoulders, as he reached the farthest part of the manor's grounds and clapped eyes on the man standing on the other end of the clearing. His red coat was as glaring in the morning's soft colors as his bald head.

“Towards retribution”, Caesar growled and once again felt the ghost of a fist graze his chin.

*

It had started as a run-of-the-mill affair, this gathering at Redweald Manor. Mr. Rodman and his wife Caroline had issued a general invitation to a ball, celebrating the coming-of-age of their foster-son and the conclusion of his studies abroad. Young Master Caesar, or as he had to be known henceforth: Mr. Caesar of Applefield Hall, had just grown into his inheritance of said Manor, the surrounding estate and various overseas holdings which amounted to an income of three thousand pounds a year.

This alone was reason enough for the ball to be a most coveted occasion for all respectable families in the neighborhood, especially those with unmarried daughters of the simian persuasion, but Caesar was generally known to be a welcoming, open-hearted fellow with pleasing manners and a quick mind. He was the pride and joy of his foster-parents, to be sure, who never tired to astonish their visitors with narratives of Caesar's studies in France or Italy or his prowess with the epee. The return of this epitome of the gentlemanly arts, who had last been seen in the neighborhood six years since, was eagerly awaited and a favorite topic of many conversations at tea or at the dining table.

Thus, the evening had barely begun when carriage upon carriage drove up to Redweald, ejecting all who had name or fortune or both onto the Rodmans' driveway and into their grand hall. There they met with the welcome of the mistress of the house, proudly standing before her husband and son who was the object of many a curious eye. The universal interest in his person was too obvious to feign ignorance of but Mr. Caesar managed to keep his countenance admirably, and if his spine seemed a bit stiff and his shoulders permanently squared, it was benevolently perceived as part of his excellent posture.

He danced every dance and contributed greatly to the amusement of those he spoke with during the pauses. He seemed particular delighted with the company of Miss Cornelia, a very studious and accomplished young lady, and Miss Tinker, whose quirky sense of humor rivaled her taste for adventure, though far along on her way to spinsterhood. Together with Mr. Rocket, Caesar's teacher and companion of many years, the four of them were certainly the most refined apes of the company and, in the minds of several attendees, nearly almost as accomplished as humans.

Things took a distressing turn, however, with the arrival of Colonel Wesley McCullough – an uncouth villain, if there ever was one, who had fought in the War and made a fortune in prize-money. Rumors of his conduct during the fighting spoke of merciless cruelty and a penchant for violence. He never took prisoners of war, preferring to slaughter on the spot any and all enemy soldiers who surrendered. He loathed cowardice and, knowing what fate awaited them if they faltered in their step, his men had followed him into battle with alacrity and almost religious fervor.

Behind raised hands and closed doors rumors circulated that even the highest echelons of the military were weary of this Colonel, preferring to retire him on the spot once the Truce had been signed, instead of having him in command of armed troops even a second longer.

After his discharge – no one dared to ask whether honorable or not – Colonel McCullough had bought an estate five miles from Redweald and the Rodmans had generally assumed that he loathed them, and their son in particular, too much to attend the ball. This assumption had been wrong.

The Colonel's hatred for all apes was such that it drew him towards them. It spun a net of fascination that lured him out of his den and towards Redweald Manor, wanting to see this Caesar, who was universally admired throughout the neighborhood. He wanted to look upon this embodiment of the best humanity and apekind had to offer – and scoff in his face.

And there he was now, roughly pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring the footman hurrying after him and the incredulous stares following his wake. Knowing that no one would dare interrupting him, no one would dare to step into his path, he loathed them all the more for their gutlessness. The rules of polite society shackled them down and he was free to mow through them like the Reaper through corn. Presently, he reached the quartet of apes, just glancing at the two females and the older male, before his burning gaze came to rest upon the scion of the house.

“Well”, he snarled and the smell of liquor on his breath betrayed the state of his being, even if his sure-footedness when entering the room had not.

Caesar had stepped a few inches forward, unconsciously moving himself between his guests and the scoundrel, but his upbringing curbed his first urge to bodily throw the newcomer out of the house.

“I don't think we have met”, he said coldly instead which seemed to amuse the Colonel to great extend.

“You'd remember if we had. You wouldn't stand here, pleased as punch, aping your betters.”

An audible gasp had escaped half the company at that but Mr. Caesar had remained silent. He just took another half-step forward, fully planting himself between the scoundrel and his friends. Mr. Rocket took it about himself to lead Miss Tinker and Miss Cornelia away but that movement unfortunately caught the Colonel's attention and brought his ire down on the two ladies. Fixing their muslin gowns and silken gloves with a contemptuous stare, he unleashed his tongue in a vile barrage that cannot be repeated in polite company. First one, then the other lady broke into sobs as he called them animals playacting at being humans, shamed them for their hairy, bosom-less bodies and closed by comparing their elaborately coiffed hairpieces to putting a wig on a dog.

By this time the room was in uproar and thus accounts of what transpired next are conflicting, but in favor of wishing to defend the distressed ladies' honor we are inclined to believe that Mr. Caesar was the first to strike. Having slipped his hand from his evening glove, he had bunched the fabric in his fist and slapped the villainous Colonel hard across his face, rendering him dumb for a moment before the man retaliated by punching Caesar in the jaw.

And thus cue the unfolding scene on a meadow far from the Manor in the wee hours of the morning …

*

They only stopped for a heart-beat before striding into the clearing and Rocket finally ceased his signed monologue, much to Caesar's relief. It had been increasingly difficult to ignore his friend, even more so once Caesar realized that the other chimp's scolding stemmed from the terror of possibly having to see Caesar getting killed in a duel just barely after he had returned home. But there was no time to reconsider, and Caesar was still too furious to even spare the thought.

They met in the middle. The Colonel's man nodded sharply in greeting before stepping to the side. McCullough slipped out of his coat and held it out to his side, waiting for his man to collect it and retreat once more. His icy blue eyes were piercing Caesar the whole time.

“Choosing pistols, I see”, McCullough remarked with a smirk.

Caesar ignored him in favor of removing his own jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

“No need to be honorable with me, monkey. I won't be either.”

The man was insufferable! Caesar's fingers twitched as he suppressed the urge to punch the man as he had punched him. The taunting stopped when Rocket placed the chest into the dewy grass and opened the latch. Two gleaming pistols lay on green velvet, their stocks engraved with vines, their handles made of polished cherry-wood. They had been gifts from a philosopher Caesar had met in Naples. He remembered the grin playing around the orangutan's eyes as he signed that even the most peaceful person needed to defend themselves sometimes.

“ _They hold a secret”_ , Maurice had signed before they had said farewell.

Rocket loaded the first pistol, while the Colonel's man stood over him and watched carefully. Then the second weapon. The Colonel chose his weapon first and Caesar took the other one. The weight was familiar in his palm and strange as well. He had never used them in a duel before, always preferring the blade if it had come to that. Apes had a considerable advantage over humans when it came to blades – they were smaller, more agile, had longer reach. Apes who fenced were so rare, being seldom a part of society were knowledge of armed fighting was necessary, that nearly no human could gather experience in fighting them, whereas Caesar had fenced against humans all his life. But today, out of spite and driven by madness Caesar had shirked the epee. He was desperate to prove to this man that he was his equal, if not his superior. Caesar burned with the desire of taking those insults and shove them back where they came from, knowing all the while that this was a futile endeavor. All the reports he had heard about Colonel McCullough pointed to a man moored in his opinions and unreasonable beyond belief.

“You chose the weapons, we chose the condition”, the hitherto silent man suddenly said. “Winning condition is First Blood.”

Caesar looked at McCullough in disbelief. The man still smirked.

“I'll only need one shot to do away with you, monkey. Render unto Caesar the things he deserves …”

One second more of this loathsome smirk and Caesar wouldn't be able to constrain himself! He turned around sharply and saw Rocket signing urgently at his side.

“ _He counts on you being honorable and only shoot to wound – “_

“Preacher, count us in!”

“– _n't let yourself be fooled and for once in your life be a crook! Please!”_

“On the count of ten! Prepare yourselves. One! Two! Three –“

Caesar mechanically set one foot in front of the other, pistol raised to his shoulder, and felt blank.

“Four! Five!”

There was a garden-warbler singing nearby. Stirred into song by their presence, no doubt, but Caesar could not say if the bird was alarmed by them or not. It was a pretty song, nevertheless.

“Six! Seven!”

The dew-sprinkled grass was wet and cold under his feet. He dared not thinking of the time today when it would be dried up by the sun. He didn't dare hope to see it.

“Eight! Nine!”

His thumb caressed wood, his index-finger slotted perfectly onto the trigger.

“Ten!”

Turn – Focus – Aim – _Shoot!_

He saw the Colonel being jerked around by his bullet before the man's own pistol went off, going widely off mark. Then smoke momentarily concealed the scene. Caesar took a tentative step forward, then another. Rocket suddenly jumped out of the haze and pulled him into a bear-hug, then pushed him away by his shoulders and giving his form a critical look. No blood on his shirt! Then the hug was back. He breathed out.

Hearing returned soon after with a high-pitched whine in his ears, followed by groaning and a curse. He untangled himself from Rocket and walked across the meadow to where McCullough's man was trying to staunch the wound in the Colonel's shoulder.

“You bastard”, McCullough had time to snarl at Caesar before Rocket's kick to his head knocked him out cold.

“ _Nothing to damage in there”,_ the older ape signed defensively at Caesar's scandalized look and busied himself with stowing their weapons away.

“Can I see the pistols?”, McCullough's man – Preacher – asked surprisingly gentle.

“No!”, Rocket barked and snapped the case shut. “We need doctor. Go back to house!”

Hours later, in the antechamber to the guestroom McCullough was temporarily placed in, Preacher asked again and with Rocket going about his business somewhere else, Caesar saw no reason to deny the request.

In his old study, he stood by as Preacher inspected both weapons and confirmed that they were in excellent condition. He even let the man bring out his own pistol, an affirmation that Preacher, even though he was young and friendly-like, was as disreputable as all the Colonel's men were said to be, and compare them side-by-side. Preacher paused, then took Caesar's gun and pulled the trigger experimentally. He paused again, looking at Caesar in quiet calculation. Whatever conclusion he was reaching he did not say, but he put the pistol back into its case and closed the lid with a decisive snap.

“Thank you”, he said and left the room.

Caesar turned to the windows. The sun was high up and glaringly bright. The soft mist and tranquility of this day's morning was long forgotten and Caesar was alive to feel the afternoon heat. For once in his life, he had acted like a crook but still he had not killed the Colonel. To what end – good, bad or self-destructive – he could not say. But he was intrigued to find out. Tomorrow, or as soon as their physician deemed it safe, Colonel McCullough would be moved back to his house, his foster-mother having made clear that she did not suffer the man to stay under her roof for longer than was absolutely necessary.

Caesar himself would travel to his own home soon after. He had an estate to run, a wife to find and a society to reform. He would do it peacefully and honorably, but he would forever be in dept to Maurice for gifting him the tools to protect his plans from all who would seek to unravel them: Pistols – weapons of man's design and destructive power, to be sure, but modeled to work best in the strong and dexterous hands of an ape.

~*~


End file.
